Espresso
by 10EBRIS
Summary: (Military!AU) Lovino Vargas is the definition of a human espresso - short and bitter. After the deaths of his last remaining family members, his life becomes somewhat surreal. He's just not the same any more. However, that may not be the consequence of the deaths alone... maybe it's more complicated than that? Maybe it involves a hateful desire for a certain Spaniard?
1. Prologue

_"__I'm sorry, Soldier."_

It was becoming increasingly harder to breathe, the air seeming to get thicker and thicker, harder for the dark-haired man to respire. It was as though he'd had all of the oxygen squeezed out of his lungs before being shoved into an atmosphere containing only carbon dioxide. It was suffocating.

"_We identified the bodies; they were positive, just as we thought. Commodore Augustus Vargas and your brother are both deceased. Taken out during an interception in the last mission to-"_

Seeing the expression on Lieutenant Lovino Vargas' face, Commander Fernandez-Carriedo faltered, the Spaniard's pulse halting for a moment or two. It had to be the first time he had seen such an array of emotion on the Lieutenant's usual poker-face, and by Jove, it was livid; his steely, metallic green eyes had darkened to blackened orbs of pure rage, the irises swirling dangerously, with the consistency of molten mercury. His chest had swelled, his olive skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat. Wondering what the Sicilian was going to do, the Spaniard braced himself, sitting back slightly in his seat, his meadow green eyes widening a little. He could see - from his spot behind the desk - that Lovino's fists were clenched at his sides, the knuckles turning white. His hands were shaking, his adams apple bobbing in his throat.

Carriedo flinched - he knew it was only a matter of time before the Lieutenant blew a fuse.

"This is your fault, you piece of _shit. _You and your _shitty _missions. Everything I've gone through, **everything **to keep my brother safe, and you've just pissed on that with another of your _shitty _experiments to find a fucking military base that has already been taken over. Are you fucking kidding me? Are you telling me that I have just wasted _half of my mother fucking **life**_?" His voice was trembling, his calm and deadly tone rising dangerously, "You complete and utter anal-mouthed, shit-faced Spanish _bastard!" _

Antonio swallowed past the lump in his throat. He needed to remain calm. If he lost his temper, too, his bond with the Lieutenant would just be broken beyond repair. It hurt; the look of betrayal in Lovino's eyes, the hatred in his voice...

"Lovino, please. Their deaths were inevitable, there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent-"

"You could have aborted the fucking mission is what!"

"Lieutenant Vargas, please refrain from shouting. Calm down; this won't end well."

The Italian's eyes were ablaze with fury, his teeth clenched, his chiselled jaw set, the dusting of stubble becoming more prominent. His nostrils flared a little. He was like an ill-tempered bull, a minotaur of a man. One that the Commander desperately needed to tame down before things fired up even more.

"Calm down? _**Calm down? **_Don't tell me to calm down, you shitty excuse of a senior! You can't do fuck all; you can't tell me what to do. I'm not going to obey your commands. Fuck you; you can't even organise a fucking supplies mission without killing off at least three soldiers! What kind of Wing-Commander are you? How would you feel if it was your family? I'll wipe my _ass _with your stupid missions-"

"_**Lovino Julius Vargas!**" _The Commander abruptly stood from his desk, almost toppling his chair in the process, his peaceful green eyes suddenly thronged with anger.

"Don't you dare insult the way I work! I'm doing all that I can to protect my soldiers-"

"Protecting them? My ass! You just sent the last remaining members of my whole fucking family to their deaths. Do you have no remorse, shit-head?"

"That is enough!"

"Fuck off!"

A tooth skittered off along the floor. A flicker of blood stained the white linen front of Antonio's shirt. Before Lovino could control his actions, he had punched the Commander square in the jaw, his knuckles cracking and the Spaniard's tooth crunching beneath his fist.

The taller man towered over the dark-haired Italian, his lip split and bloodied.

"Lovino." He growled softly.

The shorter male had his head of dark, almost black hair on the desk, his fingers clasped together near the bottom of his occipital bone. His breathing was shallow and laboured, and it took the Spaniard a moment to calm himself down, a moment to realise what was going on.

The shaking of the Lieutenant's shoulders as he lay slumped against the desk told him the obvious.

Carriedo's strong brow lowered, his lips pursing. His high cheekbones became subtly more defined, his cleanly shaven jaw locking, also. He ignored the pain from where his tooth had been. It was one of the ones at the back, and he had to admit; the Italian could swing a pretty good punch.

He heard a muffled sniff to his left.

His chest suddenly throbbed, a horrid ache jolting through his body. He sighed softly, and combed his fingers through his unkempt, ash-brown hair.

Moving slowly, so as not to provoke the Lieutenant even more, the Commander laid his hand down, gently to the other's shoulder. Lovino flinched under his large, warm hand, stubbornly refusing to lift his head from the table. A stray curl stuck out near the front of his head, laying loosely on the wood.

The Italian sniffed again, his breath hitching.

"_I-I just can't..." _He choked out as Antonio slid his arm around his shoulders, "_They were my only family..." _

_"_I know, Lovino... I'm sorry." The Commander knelt beside him, apologising, even though he knew damn well that 'sorry' just wasn't good enough this time. How could the Lieutenant ever forgive him? More so, how could he forgive himself?

For the split second that Antonio's eyes had closed, he'd felt the Italian collapse onto the floor, to his knees next to him, at the corner of the desk. The next thing he felt was the instant warmth and security as the Italian's strong, muscular arms wrapped around his waist, the tip of his nose against his neck, his face buried in his shoulder.

It was the first time Antonio had ever seen the Lieutenant cry.


	2. Chapter 1

Lieutenant Lovino Vargas sat contemplating his business as he stared into a swirling shot-glass of piping hot espresso. His usual espresso.

The Lieutenant didn't much care to wait until his drink had cooled down. He downed it in one, feeling the silky black liquid blister his tongue. He placed the shot glass back down, cursing under his breath, leaning forwards on his elbows at the bar of the canteen. He rubbed the sleep out of his narrow, steely green eyes; just another boring day alone. He missed being annoyed for once.

Rubbing the tips of his fingers over the stubble at his jaw, he pondered. _God, _what he'd do to have Feli sat beside him again, rambling on about pointless things, like how he fucked up the ammo on his gun, or how he managed to nick more food from the Garrisons when they weren't looking. He longed for that Feliciano-provoked headache. Not the horrible, lonely headaches he had been getting lately. What he'd do to have his grandfather, the Commodore, singing songs of Italian resistance all day long at his side, annoying the shit out of him. _What he'd do to see them again. _

Still, he decided that the best way out of this mess was not to dwell on it too much. He hated showing emotion in front of anyone, and had sworn to castrate his Commander, Antonio, should he tell anyone. It wasn't often that a senior would be intimidated by a subordinate, but let's face it; _Lovi's just that scary. _Either that, or Toni's a wuss.

Resting his head in the crook of his arm, the Sicilian turned his head to the side, one eye peeking out through the gap as someone sat down beside him.

"You've burnt your mouth again, haven't you? Don't lie, I can tell; you're making that face again." A female voice sounded, sweet and velvety, like chocolate, though slightly disapproving. Ah, yes; Captain Peeters. The Belgian woman earned a grunt in reply.

"Mmph. And what face?" He furrowed his brow, resting the side of his face on his other hand so that he could see her better.

"This face," And with that, the ash-blonde elongated her kittenish face, creasing her delicate brow and prodding at her lower lip with her tongue, her emerald eyes narrowing to imitate Lovino's seemingly permanent 'pissed-off' expression.

"Oh, charmin'." He replied, playing with the rim of his glass, trying to keep the smirk off his lips. Funny faces and sarcasm were what tended to set him off. He couldn't not smile at it.

"Aw, Lovino, you need to smile more often, you little poo." Captain Peeters leaned towards him, lifting a hand to try to rumple his hair. He ducked out of the way, only to be caught by her other hand, his hair being thoroughly messed up.

"_Shit, _Bella, why'd you do that for? And I'm not a 'little poo'." The Italian grimaced, the tops of his cheeks turning red. He attempted to re-do his hair, succeeding in finding his parting again, but not much else.

"That's sweet. Your hair's gone all fluffy n' shit at the sides. But you totally are a little poo, you little poo." Lovino's face flushed to an even darker colour, and he really wanted to dislike her at that precise moment in time... but how could he? The woman's language was like a fucking rainbow. "By the way, I saved you a shit-load of hassle; Antonio wanted you to finish off these papers for him, but I knew that you weren't going to be best pleased with that, so I forged your handwriting and wrote them for you."

There was a pause, during which Lovino's eyebrows shot up.

"_Mierda, _sometimes, I could just kiss you."

"Hah! As if you would; everyone knows you're as straight as a circle-"

"Keep your fucking voice down, Cap-tard!" Lovino hissed, shaking his head. The Captain laughed, her voluptuous chest moving as she did so.

"Alright, alright... but still. It's not like you stare at _his _ass subtly. You fucking oggle it, Lovi."

"I can't help that. He should stop pointing his ass at my eyes, then." The Lieutenant shrugged. Bella snorted, messily tying her hair up into a bun.

"But I will agree. He does have a very nice... _derrière_."

Lovino quirked an eyebrow, before getting another coffee, this time larger. The Captain copied, following suit.

"So," Bella began, "I totally didn't steal my brother's chocolate rations yesterday." She drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she looked over at the Italian, waggling her eyebrows. She added about five sugars to her coffee, and then a not-so-healthy amount of milk. The Lieutenant's eye twitched.

'_That doesn't look like coffee,' _He thought to himself, '_More like a cup of fucking Caspar. Look how white it is.'_

Lovino tended to have neither milk nor sugar in his coffee. The sugar made the inside of his mouth go funny, and the milk just curdled in his stomach. Coffee that milky would be likely to make him throw up. He preferred his coffee fresh, hot, and straight from the cafetiere. Maybe with a side serving of amarettini if he was in the city after being paid.

"Did he notice?" Lovino questioned, tearing his eyes away from her cup of Caspar as she began to stir it.

"Nope." She smirked, her kittenish features scrunching cheekily.

"Well played."

They sat in silence for a while, Lovino already making a start on his boiling hot coffee, the Captain beginning to drink hers, too, only the Lieutenant was pretty sure hers was nearly cold by now, what with all that milk in it. He chuckled,

"Do you want coffee with your milk, Bells?"

"Oh shush."

He smirked, allowing his lips to curve upwards slightly, even though his eyes stayed the same.

He went back to his coffee, his lips curved to the rim of the cup, the liquid moving forwards into his mouth.

Captain Peeters suddenly digged him in the ribs, causing him to choke a little.

He coughed and spluttered, putting the cup down on the table.

"Stop fucking digging me! What was that for? I swear to god if it's another-" He turned to her incredulously, and she gestured behind her with a nod of her head.

He turned slowly, to see what was so interesting that she had to dig him. He hesitated, his eyes wavering over the muscular expanse of Antonio's shirtless back.

He slid back around on his barstool, shaking his head.

"Tsk. Bastard knows what he's doing. Attention whore." At that, Bella almost snorted her 'white-girl-crack'.

"He's putting on a show."

Lovino rolled his eyes, trying to drink his coffee again.

"For you." The blonde added onto the end, causing the Italian to laugh into his coffee, the black liquid almost going up his nose. The Captain broke into laughter.

"Why do you have to do that whenever I go to drink something? Can't I just enjoy a coffee in peace?"

"Nope. Not on my watch, soldier." She winked.

"You'll make me look like a fucking idiot. I'm just glad those shit-nosed trainees aren't around."

"Agreed. They always make such a noise."

"I'll tell you a story," The Italian chuckled, "Yesterday, this one little shit came up to me and tried to fight me. He called me 'short-stack', dancing around like a ponce."

"Oh?"

"So I turned around, and told him that if he ripped down his pants and shat in the middle of the canteen, I'd understand that more than why he was trying to fight me. He then decided to try to sass me, and that's never a good thing. So you know what's coming next."

"Oh God, you didn't..." Captain Peeters grinned, already expecting the worst.

"I totally did." The Lieutenant smirked, "'_Oh yeah, baby, work the shaft_', I actually_ moaned_ out, to which he seemed pretty fucking uncomfortable. I then explained myself; 'Sorry.' I apologised... 'I have a tendency to talk dirty when someone's _**sucking my dick.**_"

The blonde almost fell out of her seat with laughter, curling over on herself, her head resting against the bar. She was gasping for air, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She clutched her ribs, trying to steady herself. When the Belgian woman was capable of speech she managed,

"O-Oh my God, Lovi... That's fucking hilarious." Tears were brimming at the corners of her eyes.

"How do you do it? And with such a deadpan expression, too?" She asked, "I could learn a few things from you."

Lovino shrugged,

"I don't even know myself. That's just my face, I guess." He finished his coffee, putting the cup back down on the table.

"Got to love you, Lovino. I'm glad you're here; you always know how to cheer me up." Bella squeezed his shoulder fondly. He smiled weakly - well, it was more of a grimace.

"You too, Bells. You too."

He loved entertaining her with his more interesting stories and naughty comebacks, and he was happy that he could be there for her when she needed him. Then again, he was always there for his friends when they needed him.

Even if Bella was the only one who was still alive.

The thought brought that empty feeling back to the pit of his stomach.

"Well, I need to go for a briefing now, kiddo. I'll see you at lunch, when your drills are over."

"Kiddo? Cheeky bitch, I'm twenty." He chuckled, "I'll see you later."

And with that, the Captain skipped off - perhaps the coffee was a little much for her.

The Lieutenant sighed, going back to how he'd been before she'd hopped on over. Same old story, different day, and boy, did these days drag.

He just wanted to see his brother, to hold him tightly and never let go, to never let him go on another mission ever again.

But that wouldn't happen.

He knew that they were dead; they couldn't still be alive. He'd watched them burn in the funeral pyres, seen Feliciano's pale, bloodsoaked hand peering out from between two planks of wood.

It wasn't fair.

Why him?

_Why me...?_

* * *

Back up within the warm confines of his office, Lieutenant Vargas awaited his fate. With his eyes locked on his door, he swallowed back thickly, slumped in the chair at his desk. Today was 'The Passing'.

The clock was his only company, forever ticking away...

Tick... Tock... Tick... Tick...

He closed his tired eyes. For some reason, even his espresso couldn't wake him up this morning.

The knock at his door was deafening, piercing his skull and stabbing his brain where it hurt the most. He didn't bother to call to signal his presence. It was a rude interruption. He cast his eyes across his desk, searching. Despite the man's desk being rather messy, he didn't have many possessions to his name. Even despite the amount of money he had.

He had a small box, containing a few shirts, a single pair of pyjamas, a tin of cigarettes and some soaps. All of these things fitted into the small, mahogany chest, and inside was enclosed a letter, right at the bottom. He never touched it, and the front of the envelope was lacking a name.

But he knew what it was for. Oh, yes; he'd written it when he had been promoted to Corporal, back in the day; it was a letter to say what happened to his small box of possessions after he died. If he died. It had yet to have a name addressed to it, though. He hadn't picked anyone to label as 'kin' or 'spouse' or even 'offspring' yet. Not even 'friend'. Bella seemed like a goodly candidate, but after seeing her reaction to receiving the possessions of one of her friends? No, Lovino couldn't burden her with that, of all people.

He saw having so many possessions to himself as pointless, and a hindrance to anyone who had to go through them if he died. He knew that he, himself, could die at any time.

Moving towards the door at long last, the Lieutenant gripped the doorknob - of which he had disinfected, and pulled open the door, letting the other inside. It was one of the trainees - a private, most likely.

"Hold out your hands." He ordered the other, and tilted a silver bottle towards the other's hands. It contained alcohol, brilliant for killing bacteria.

He was very particular when it came to hygiene.

Lovino couldn't stand anything being unclean. Sure, his desk was messy, however it was an organised chaos. He knew where everything was, but even so... if anything in his room had so much as a smudge of dirt on it, his skin would crawl.

The private held out his hands as instructed, the teen's small hands quivering a little. A few drops of alcohol onto the other's hands, and that was enough to keep the Lieutenant happy.

Lovino flipped the lid back into its original position, before sliding the vial back into his pocket.

"Sir," The boy addressed the Lieutenant, saluting sharply, standing tall.

"Well, soldier? What are those?" He asked, softly, his voice somewhat syrupy as he lowered it.

"Ahm, those are the possessions, Sir." He stood up tall again. Lovino quirked an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yes, sir." He nodded, folding his arms over his chest nervously, "I was told to bring these to you. They are the possessions of your brother and your grandfather. The commander wants you to meet him later on, also. Comfort purposes, I was told." He paused at the expression on Lovino's face, resembling Antonio profoundly as he did so.

The Italian's face had dropped upon seeing the box holding his grandfather's possessions. He'd always wondered what was in that box. Even so, even if it were being passed down to him, he didn't feel as though he had the right to open it yet.

"Thank you." He said bluntly, taking the boxes and placing them on his desk. "And what comfort purposes? What makes him think that I want his comfort? I'm perfectly happy with being alone..." He muttered to himself as he paced the room, before spinning on his heel, turning back to the private.

"Dismissed." He commanded gruffly, his voice holding a gravelly undertone.

He'd never seen a soldier move so fast in his life. The kid was gone, without a backward glance. In Lovino's opinion, that was how all soldiers should react to a command. If they did, his life would become so much easier.

Closing his door, Lovino listened for any footsteps before taking both of the boxes and shoving them into the bottom drawer. He couldn't even _look _at them, let alone open them. It would only cause more pain.

The Lieutenant sighed, raking his hands - rough and calloused - through his silky, onyx hair. The Italian decided that it was high time he took a bath.

The warm confines of the water soothed his aching muscles, loosened the knots in his chiselled, carved body. Steam rose from his cinnamon skin, his short, dark hair billowing out into the water, becoming almost tangible with the liquid. A sigh left his slightly parted lips, crystalline droplets of water dripping from his soaked fringe, down.

His body smelled of rich spices, the taste of coffee lingering on his lips, and the sweet, smouldering, smoky taste of tobacco mingling with the espresso on his tongue. His hair smelled of hops - the sort found in beer, when it crystallises into a sugary candy around the rim of the barrel.

He lifted a foot out of the bath, propping his heel up on the side, curling his toes. He closed his eyes, his thick, dark lashes resting atop his slender cheekbones. His whole body - aside from his foot - was submersed in the water up to his chin, his neck and torso embraced by the heat.

A thin line of raven hair trailed down from his belly button, away from his sculpted abdomen.

_Time waits for no one. It will be fine in the morning, though. Even though it's nearly midnight, and my eyes are growing heavy, I won't sleep yet. No... just one more glass of whiskey, and everything will be alright-_

"Lovino?" A familiar voice sounded from the other side of his door.


	3. Chapter 2

"Lovino? Are you in there?"

Lovino at this point, was out of the bath, and instead sat on 'The Throne'. The voice was cheery and familiar, and so very inevitably Spanish. Lovino sighed; what didn't he seem to understand about '_leave me alone'_? Then again, he doubted that the soldier earlier would have said what the Lieutenant had said to the Wing-Commander's face. He doubted that very much considering Antonio's façade.

It had fooled him once. It had fooled him well, when he joined. His only fear was that it would fool him again.

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit! _

_I was running, running for my fucking life. I knew I shouldn't have stolen it, but hell; I had a family to feed, and now there's a crazy bastard with a knife chasing me. _

_My name? I'm Lovino Vargas, Italian, aged sixteen. I'm five foot three, with dark hair and green eyes. If you see me, please don't shoot. I'm just trying to live, just like every other poor fuck scraping around here. _

_Hah, **trying.** I thought as I ran. My heart was hammering my ribcage with the force of a thousand canaries, my undercut hair flying back out of my face. My arms and shirt was full of food - ripe, red tomatoes, and they were all for my family and I. It's not like the guy needed all of those anyway; he had two more barrels full! _

_My feet slipped and slid along the muddy cobblestone as I sprinted away through the winding streets of Sicily, trying to lose the grouch on my trail. He was hot on my heels. _

_"Thief! Bastardo!"_

_I felt my breath catch in my chest, an irritated sound slipping from between my teeth. Dead end. Fuck. _

_I looked around wildly, waiting for him to catch up... before bailing to the side, rolling in through an open window, running through the seemingly abandoned warehouse. I didn't stop running until I reached the other side, jumping over a wall..._

_And then colliding with something very tall, and not so soft. I felt about twenty of the twenty-two tomatoes slip from my grasp, and before the thing I'd bumped into could get an earful, I was met with a pair of dark, ominous green eyes. The stare seemed to burn into my skull, forcing me to look away._

_"I think you dropped something." The voice was deep and somewhat threatening. Spanish. I know those accents all too well._

_"No shit-" I cut myself short, my eye twitching as I felt that cold stare again. It was like having ice dumped down your back. _

_"I saw how you lost that merchant. That goose-chase was rather impressive, and you seem to be quite the fast sprinter. We could use you as a decoy."_

_Normally, I'd have taken that as a compliment, but then I heard the words 'use you' and 'decoy'. Immediately, I was insulted._

_I lost sight of him. Who cared what his eyes looked like? Who cares if he's tall? I certainly don't. _

_"Tsk. Fuck you, kindly." I snarked subtly, before shouldering past him. _

_A large hand fell down onto my shoulder, forcing me back. My heart jolted with a wave of disgust. How dare he-?!_

_Immediately, my knife was out of my belt. If he was going to jump me, then I had every right to defend myself. I whipped around, and rapped the blade over his knuckles before running again, my skin coated with a light sheen of sweat. _

_Great, another chase. Well done, Lovino. You just can't stay out of trouble for five minutes, can you?_

_As I ran, I bit into one of the tomatoes, getting a good few mouthfuls before throwing it behind myself. I hope he slips on it and breaks his neck and dies horribly._

_I smirked. I'd like to see him try to keep up with me. I'll show him what I'm made of. I'm much more than a decoy. _

_I ran towards another dead end, leading him straight into it before running up the wall, my foot taking off from the red bricks. Time seemed to have frozen as my gaze locked with his mid-jump. I had free-wheeled over the top of his curly, brunette head, landing on all fours before jumping yet another wall, scrambling up the side of a building (via the drainpipes), my blade clutched between my teeth. _

_I'd ran from the police plenty of times._

_I paused at the top of the building, spying another one close by. That was a pretty sizeable jump... I could well break my neck if I missed it... I took the blade out of my mouth, throwing it to the other side, calculating the distance as the knife scraped along the roof. Hmm._

_Hah, what have I got to lose anyway? I'm a street-rat. _

_Feeling that familiar, large hand wrap around my ankle, I was suddenly snapped out of my train of thought, and kicked my captor in the face. I was gonna go for it. _

_My foot left the ledge..._

_I flew through the air, my feet kicking as though trying to walk on it, my arms reaching for the opposite building. Come on. Just a little bit further! _

_My feet thudded the top of the building, followed by my hands, and I rolled relentlessly, my face dragging over the hard gravel. My left cheek started to burn, from my jaw all the way up to my temple. I could smell the blood instantly. _

_The taller man also made the jump, much to my distaste. Immediately, I gripped my knife, lunging at him with a roar of determination._

**_I will win. I must win._**

_The knife was blocked, knocked straight out of my hands. I thus resorted to my fists and feet. I kicked him backwards, watching him stumble towards the edge of the building... and then regain his balance. He moved towards me, and for a moment, we just sparred. _

_I then realised what he was trying to do; he could see that I was injured, and he was trying to wear me out. _

_My will wouldn't allow that. My pride certainly wouldn't, either. _

_"Don't underestimate me!" I snarled, and delivered several fast, sharp punches to his face and chest, knocking the air out of him. _

_Then, the unexpected happened. The bastard pulled a gun on me. _

_"I've had enough of this. Surrender." _

_My eyes narrowed to hateful slits. I stood my ground, gritting my teeth._

_He cocked the pistol, and rotated the barrel. _

_"Stand down, or I'll shoot." _

_I bit the inside of my cheek and dropped to my knees, swallowing my pride. _

_"What's your name?"_

_I remained silent, stubbornly._

_He placed the gun against my forehead._

_"What's your name?" He repeated._

_Another silence._

_"Lovino." I replied. _

_"My name is Antonio Carriedo, Commander of the Milizia di Liberazione." _

_More silence._

_"I want you to join forces with us." The man's face was dark, sleek, foreboding... His eyes held the authority of a king, his prominent cheekbones were only defined by the setting sun, the incandescent light radiating from his sunkissed skin. The scent of his cologne tickled my senses as he knelt down opposite me, our faces inches away. Everything about him was painfully... painfully 'correct'. Even the way he **wore **his cologne. It wasn't strong, no... it was the perfect example of what my grandfather used to say: 'One shouldn't be able to smell a man's cologne unless they're within embracing-distance'. _

* * *

"Lovino! Please let me in."

"Per l'amor di Dio! I'm trying to take a shit!"

There was a pause, and then the sound of shoes on the floor as the Spaniard moved away from the door. Lovino sighed, resting his head on his hand.

"I'll be waiting on your bed, is that okay?" The cheery voice sounded again.

There was a long, long pause, during which the Italian's mind had jumped to numerous assumptions.

"Fine." He replied bluntly.

A few more minutes passed before the shorter Italian male emerged from his bathroom. He found Antonio doing just as he said he was: sitting on Lovino's bed. At first, the darker-haired man wanted to interrogate the Spaniard, but after seeing that his shoes were off - placed neatly by the door - and that he was seemingly clean, he had a hard time finding anything to criticise.

Antonio looked up, his handsome face glowing slightly. Lovino could tell that he had eaten well by the slight luminescence in his cheeks and the tip of his nose. The Italian, on the other hand, had skipped dinner; the canteen was often too crowded for his liking. According to him, if idiots could fly, the canteen would be a god-damn airport.

He didn't say anything. He merely walked to his desk and began filing his papers into the correct drawers, refusing to open the bottom drawer.

Antonio stared at the drawer accusingly, knowingly. He suspected exactly what the Lieutenant had done.

"You know you can talk to me, Lovino. What happens in this room stays in this room."

"Look at me, Antonio." He turned around to face the Commander, the depression of the whole situation evident on his face, "Do I look like I want to talk?"

"Not particularly, but it you should consider talking. It may help you with your feelings instead of keeping them locked away from everyone. Because that's what you do, isn't it? You don't like to ask for help."

The taller male earned a grunt in reply.

"Look, if you came here expecting shits n' cuddles, then you clearly have the wrong perception of me."

"Oh, no, on the contrary," Antonio replied, his meadow green eyes meeting Lovino's, "I was expecting you to be like this. Nonetheless, me being here is helping you. I've already thought this scenario through."

Lovino lowered his brow, and sat down on the bed.

"You know what would help me even more?"

"What?"

"You shutting your damn mouth for five seconds so I can think."

Knowing the Lieutenant all too well, the Commander indeed shut his mouth. They were a rare case, these two; it wasn't everyday that a commander would take orders from a lieutenant. However Antonio certainly didn't want to be in Lovino's 'bad books'. The Italian didn't make a very easy enemy. Besides that, he respected the man due to all he had been through, for the way he had survived, the way he taught himself and learned to value himself. He knew that no matter what happened, Lovino would obey his every order, and if the man ordered him to die for him, he'd damn well do it.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed the Italian's next words.

"You wanna watch yourself there, boss. I might get too comfy."

"Hmm?" Antonio hadn't quite missed Lovino's words, but he had definitely missed the fact that the other was leaned into his side, his head resting on Antonio's shoulder. The Spaniard smiled, feeling a long-gone warmth returning to his body. It had been so long since someone had been this close to him. He had missed it.

He placed his arms around Lovino's body, to which the Italian quirked an eyebrow. Antonio froze.

"Too far?" He asked, halting his movements.

"No. You just surprised me, is all. Tell me, next time."

With that, the Lieutenant leaned back into the Commander's arms, once more being able to smell his cologne. It was spicy and citrus-y ; he liked it.

"What cologne do you wear?" Lovino asked, casually.

"Number 4711, Cologne."

"That German shit?"

"Do you not like it?"

"On the contrary. It's nicer on you than on any potato-head."

Antonio laughed,

"Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I'll leave that to your imagination." Lovino replied.


	4. Chapter 3

Antonio regarded Lovino tenderly, watching the other while he wasn't looking, meadow green eyes skimming over his features as the other silently stared out of the window. It was a nice silence, where neither of them felt the need to speak.

Antonio enjoyed moments like this. He enjoyed having a peaceful Lieutenant as opposed to a scarily angry, cold or possibly crying Lieutenant. Only once had Lovino ever cried in front of him - or anyone, for that matter. It wasn't a sight the Commander wanted to see again too soon. Even despite how bittersweet it had seemed at the time. He had been scared, Lovino had been heartbroken, and they had joined, _connected_ with each other and shared feelings without having to say a word. It was frightening for Antonio, but in a good way. It was another good kind of silence.

But the bad kinds of silences were those of which held a dangerous tension. Those were the kinds of silence that terrified Antonio the most. He felt as though if he uttered so much as a single syllable, or even blinked, there was a possibility that he could set the Italian off like an angry bull. The last thing he wanted was to kick off another argument with the soldier, even though he had every right to put the man in his place.

The Spaniard had the _right _to do it, but would he have the _guts _or the _heart _to do it? Lovino was very much a unique, talented streak within the Milizia di Liberazione, just as his brother - Feliciano - had been before his untimely death, however the darker-haired Italian's talent hadn't been nurtured and fed like Feliciano's, and thus his self-esteem wasn't as high. The trouble with Lovino was that he sometimes didn't seem to know what he was capable of, and often harboured great deals of anger around with him, lugging it along like a ball and chain. He was often underestimated, and to that day, Antonio regretted what he had said to Lovino when they had first met.

_Decoy._

He hadn't known the danger of what he was doing. He didn't know how much a single word could affect the man. He had only wanted to provoke a challenge...

His arms tightened around Lovino's torso, and he rested his head on his shoulder, enjoying the sensation of the other's warm skin on his cheek. Surprisingly, Lovino was good for cuddles. Not that the Italian really reacted much, just that when he was curled up like this (virtually in Antonio's lap) his normally rock hard abdominal muscles relaxed into the most adorable squishy tummy.

A tiny smile curled Antonio's lips. He also enjoyed how Lovino's pride stopped him from admitting how much he loved cuddling, and also how his body simply wouldn't get up, even when they had been holding each other for over ten minutes.

He glanced over at the clock on the wall.

19:45.

_Shit. _Antonio cursed inwardly, unravelling his arms from around Lovino. He had paperwork to finish by the day after the following morning, and he wasn't even half way through it. He felt like just dumping his paperwork out of the window. The Spaniard let out a long sigh and reluctantly let go, moving from his position behind the Lieutenant. Lovino huffed a gruff response.

"Sorry," Antonio began to explain, "You see, I've got paperwork to do, and plus if anyone sees me coming out of your room at such a late hour... well, they'll talk."

Lovino rolled his eyes, and immediately the Commander diverted his lime gaze away from the Lieutenant's olive stare.

Silence descended upon them once more, like a weight in the air. It was _that _type. The kind of silence that Antonio didn't like one bit. He began to pull on his shoes, briskly heading for the door... However, what Lovino said next shocked him so much that he'd halted fast, rooted to the floor.

"Late hour? You don't even have to come out of my room at all, if that's what's worrying you. Fuck it; stay the night."

It took about a minute for Antonio's brain to even begin to process what Lovino had said. The Italian added to his statement, encouraging the Spaniard to stay even further.

"I'm not gonna try anything, you know. Just look at me. Do I look like the sort of person that would ass-fuck you while you're sleeping?"

Antonio turned to look at Lovino when he regained control of his movements, eyeing the Lieutenant head to toe.

"You're hesitating. I don't like it. You're freaking me out."

"Sorry," The Spaniard apologised, rubbing the back of his neck, "Of course not. You look like the sort of man I'd have absolutely no objections staying the night with."

Lovino's eyebrows shot up, causing the Commander to realise what he'd just said.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" The Italian leaned forwards slightly. Antonio felt his ears burn with the embarrassment.

"Nope."

"Then take off your shoes, put your clothes in the laundry and get over here. I'm tired and this bed is cold when I'm the only one in it."

Antonio nodded, doing as he was told, stripping down until he was left in his boxers and a vest, shuddering slightly from the cold in the room, then making his way over to Lovino.

"I thought I was the boss here." He chuckled, to which the darker-haired man replied,

"You are, but this is my room."

He pulled back the covers, and patted the mattress, before heavily flopping down onto his side, his back to the other. The taller male approached the bed and climbed in, the cool, crisp covers raising goosebumps on his arms. He wearily eyed Lovino for a moment, wondering whether he'd approve of cuddling in bed. He slowly began to move closer to the Italian, wanting to be close to the little, but muscular source of heat.

Antonio semi-relaxed.

"If you're going to hug me or not, I really don't care, but we'll both be warmer if you do."

And there was the invitation.

The Spaniard immediately snuggled up to the Sicilian, moulding his body to fit against Lovino's, wrapping his toned arms around his muscular body. Naturally, Antonio's hips dipped out a bit, the small of his back arching.

Lovino's long fingers brushed Antonio's arm, combing over the thin layer of hair on his cinnamon skin. He leaned his head back to the Spaniard's chest. Antonio hid his face in Lovino's neck, detecting the scent of tomatoes in the other's hair. It made him want to eat pasta.

Antonio's toes curled when his foot brushed Lovino's calf. It was so different to sleeping beside a woman. He actually preferred it.

He'd always had a bit of a thing for the Lieutenant, though.

_I think it all began when I got him to join the militia. He way he'd managed to outsmart me, and the way he fought was so gracefully brutal. And then when he had me down on the floor, on my knees, taking my breath away, kicking it from my lungs... I felt a surge of hope. Like he could benefit everyone in this ruined part of the country, fighting off the enemies. I could see his determination and loyalty to his family. So I signed the lot of them up, with the thought of having someone in particular by my side. God, I was selfish. _

_Lovino had little place else to go, though. Maybe what I did was the right thing. Look at how well-fed he is now. Look at how skilled he's become. I need to keep him safe - not that he can't do that for himself; I've seen how he is, but I just want to... I want to dedicate my life as commander to him, and make him stronger. _

_If we ever get out of this place alive... _

_I want him to be mine. _

_I won't tell my mother; it's better that she doesn't know. She doesn't even know my occupation, nevermind my obsession with a certain male soldier. And Lovino can't tell his folks because they're already ghosts. _

Mentally, Antonio saluted his mother, imagining how Mrs. Carriedo looked the last time he saw her.

_Mama was greying slightly, the last time her and I spoke together. Her hair was jet black, with a somewhat crazy white streak running through it, like a badger. Her doe-eyed gaze always stayed the same, though... So happy, so oblivious... I'd wanted to admit it all to her, but I just couldn't stand to see her reaction. I was too afraid; would she laugh and tell me that it was okay? Would she be angry and tell me that we needed 'a serious talk'? Would she be ashamed and cut ties with me? Or... Oh God, or would she cry? The thought of my mother crying was enough to set me off. _

_She wasn't my real mother, of course... She'd been my mother's midwife. My mother was bordering Spanish aristocracy, and my father, the field-marshal, had been head of the military. I never knew my father, nor my mother - they both died before I was old enough to speak. My mother died during childbirth, and my father lost sight of himself, and was shot out around a month later. With no place else to go, with no one to take care of me, Mama Carriedo took me in. She'd been close with my mother ever since they were kids. She'd be horrified if she knew that I joined the military. _

_My name comes from hers, though unlike normal Spanish children (who adopt their mother's surname _**_and _**_their father's surname) I had my mother's surname - Fernandez - and the midwife's surname - Carriedo - since my father's identity was completely concealed. Sometimes it annoys me when people leave the 'Fernandez' out of my second name and just call me 'Antonio Carriedo'. I know it's a mouthful, but they don't know the whole story. My original mother is very important to me, as much as I love my adoptive mother. Even if she's not here in flesh, I want to carry a part of her along with me as proof that she lived._

_"_Lovi?" Antonio whispered, to which Lovino replied.

"Go sleep." He slurred, his eyes still closed. Antonio smiled briefly, before resting his head on the nape of the other's neck, curling up a little more. The Italian, now unconscious, shifted back a little until they were both comfortable, their breathing slowing and regulating.

* * *

Halfway into the night, Antonio was awoken by Lovino kicking him in the shins. Half asleep, he shifted and a small noise escaped him.

"Tonio." Lovino hissed, kicking him again, "Tonio, I swear to god, get up before you fucking cream yourself."

At that, Antonio awoke fully, sitting up sharply. There was a dull aching between his legs.

Neither of them had seen the other so red in the face. Lovino was propped up on his elbows, his nose and cheeks burning redder than even the ripest tomatoes, sweat beading at his brow, and Antonio... well, he was beyond beetroot coloured. His whole face, from the tip of his nose to the roots of his hair, was flushed deep scarlet.

Lovino looked slightly more than disturbed.

"You were fucking thrusting me." He stated flatly, his chest rising and falling deeply. Antonio's embarrassment had rendered him speechless. Lovino, judging the situation, let out a long sigh and got up out of bed, going into the bathroom, retrieving a bottle of white vinegar.

"Go finish off in the shower, but clean up after yourself. Don't make a mess."


	5. Chapter 4

_**Author Note: **_Sorry it's been so long, guys! I apologise to all of those following my story; I've been away touring China for the past 10 days, taken four long flights, two sleeper-trains and my brain has been utterly frazzled. Also, I brought back a lovely cold with me (and thus lost my voice) so I've been recovering. Hopefully I'll be well again in time for school, but as of now, here's another chapter. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Horrified at himself, Antonio rose from the bed and made his way to the bathroom, not bothering to hide the tense bulge in his boxers. Lovino had already seen it. Already _felt _it.

The Spaniard felt it throb a little.

His hand closed over the handle of the door, and he pushed it open, locking the door behind himself.

_'Right. Keep it clean.' _He thought to himself, remembering Lovino's words. Peridot eyes scanning the small room, he located the towels, and picked one up hesitantly, not knowing if he was allowed to use it.

"Lovino?" He called, to which he got the same sort of irritable reply.

"The fuck ya' wantin'?"

_Well it was three o'clock in the morning._

"Can I use one of your towels?" There was a long silence from the other room. For a moment, Antonio suspected that Lovino had dropped back off to sleep, but then he answered, his voice somewhat hoarse.

"Go ahead. Also, there's something in the cabinet. Just so you know."

"Thanks." Antonio replied, taking a clean towel and breathing in its scent; it smelled just like Lovino. He placed it on the side of the sink before opening the cabinet doors. Once more, his eyes travelled around, his brow furrowing in concentration as he searched for the 'something'.

It took a moment for Antonio to register what the 'something' was supposed to be, but then he spotted it; a clear bottle sat close to the back, on the left-hand side, containing what looked to be some sort of oil.

Carefully reaching for the bottle, he took it out of the cabinet and flipped open the lid. He brought it to his nose, curious of the scent.

_Oh! _

Antonio's eyes widened, and he almost laughed in disbelief.

_It's olive oil..._

Drawing back the shower curtain, the Spaniard reached for the hot water tap. he twisted it firmly, his fingers gripping the metal tightly. He moved away from the rush of the water and began to take off his remaining garments (his boxers and vest). He looked down at himself shamefully, registering how agonisingly hard he was.

Feeling the dampness on his underwear, he wrinkled his nose and cast them aside, into the laundry basket. He decided that he'd just as well do the same with his top. He picked up on his own musky scent seconds before stepping into the shower, the hot jets of water pounding his back. He poured a generous quantity of olive oil onto his hand.

He didn't remember what he'd dreamt of. All he knew was that when he woke up, he'd apparently been 'thrusting' the Lieutenant.

That image stayed with him as he wrapped a large warm hand around himself. He bit his lip and forced back any unnecessary noises, though couldn't stop his deep and frantic breathing. He was panting as though he had just re-done the laps he had completed as a trainee. He tugged at himself, his eyes closing, his hips dipping out once again.

_Lovino's nails were digging into his thighs, the man's rough and calloused hands controlling Antonio's hips. _

_"For a commander, you're awfully undisciplined." With that, Lovino's mouth was around his length, his searing hot lips sliding along the skin, all the way down to the base, the edges of his teeth gently grazing over the vein. A pressure became apparent when the Italian hollowed out his cheeks and began moving. _

_"Si, si, Lovi!" _

Antonio jolted forwards, his hand increasing its speed.

_Lovino's hand. And his mouth. His tongue and lips... his rough fingers..._

He came rather suddenly, letting out a low grunt, his hand stuttering and halting. He gathered his breath, and when he was ready, opened his eyes. His chest was heaving, his hands - both of them - filled with a wet stickiness. His eye twitched.

He felt embarrassed; it was natural, but god forbid if Lovino would allow Antonio to touch him again, even after he'd washed his hands.

He hastily wiped it all off, watching it disappear down the drain.

_That should be all of it._

He paused. He felt like he'd forgotten something. It took him a moment, his mind still post-orgasm, but then he gasped loudly, his eyes darting to the walls.

"Shit!" He panicked, making to grab for a towel... only to realise that he'd actually managed to keep the walls clean.

The Spaniard almost fainted from relief. He sat back against the wall, his heart racing, the spray of the shower gently tickling his face.

"You done yet?" A voice called from the other side of the door. Antonio sat up,

"Si, I'll be out, now."

"And keep your damn voice down, someone might hear and," There was a pause, "Assume things. These walls aren't soundproof, you know. Discipline yourself."

_Discipline yourself._

Antonio pursed his lips, trying to banish that thought from his head. If only the Lieutenant knew. The Spaniard grinned.

"Don't be a little shit, Lovi." He called back cheerily, to which a short bark - presumably a very sarcastic laugh (or scoff) - could be heard from the other side. "I bet you'd moan until your vocal chords give out."

"Fuck off, bastard. I don't moan at all, I'll have you know. Even if I did, I'd do it quietly, because it's not like-"

"You know I'm only joking." The brunette laughed, turning off the shower, "You take things too seriously. Loosen up."

"Mmph. Hurry up, I need to get in."

"Okay."

At first, Antonio didn't question it, going along with what he needed to, getting the towel, patting himself dry, but then he hit a wall.

_Why is Lovino taking a shower? _

Surely it was way too early in the morning for the Italian to be showering?

_Or maybe he's in the same boat as I was, only he could hold his out longer... _

That seemed like a pretty reasonable thought, but that would mean implying that the Lieutenant was aroused by Antonio 'thrusting' him; a situation of which the Commander never even paused to consider the Lieutenant feeling such a way about.

On his way out of the bathroom, his eyes moved straight towards Lovino's crotch as the other made to walk past him.

_Oh. _

_He's not hard. That's disappointing. _

So what was the Italian doing in the bathroom? Perhaps he just needed to piss? Maybe he was inspecting the walls or shower, just in case he didn't trust Antonio?

_Nah, he trusts me. I know that much about him._

Another wave of panic surged over the Spaniard.

_Oh, God, what if he feels the need to wash because he felt disgusted by me?_

"Lovino?" Antonio called when he heard the water being turned on again. There was, once more, a grunt from the other side. Antonio took that as his signal to reply.

"It's petty, but are you showering because you feel disgusted by me?"

In an instant, Lovino had opened the door, a towel wrapped around his waist. He was naked from there up. The Italian was looking at the Spaniard with his narrow, metallic green eyes, the colours swirling like the inside of a gel-pen.

Antonio knew that expression.

The other was very obviously calculating him.

"Stop trying to calculate me, and answer my question." Antonio furrowed his brow. Lovino's expression did not change. It didn't even falter.

The Italian then stepped forwards, and raised his hand.

Antonio's eyes widened, and he clenched his fists, ready for Lovino to take a swing at him.

And then the man's hand fell softly upon his cheek.

"You really shouldn't jump to conclusions, idiot. Don't think that I'll always be so nice. No one's around now, so I can do this with you. Don't you dare do this in public."

"Do what?" Antonio questioned, pushing Lovino further.

"This. Now shut up."

Their faces grew infinitesimally closer, Lovino noticeably drawing in a deep breath. Antonio's words caught in his chest. He couldn't speak. They were mere centimetres apart.

Lovino puffed air into his face, and then let go, a flicker of a smirk peeping out from under his carefully composed mask.

Never before had Antonio felt as though life was so unfair to him.

"Go back to bed. I'll be there in ten."

The Italian went back into the bathroom, leaving Antonio still a bit dazed. He soon snapped out of it when he realised that he was staring at the door.

He also remembered that he'd put his clothes in the laundry. He was just about to ask when Lovino answered the question for him.

"Borrow a pair of my boxers. Your dick will freeze with the temperature in this room."

"Gracias."

"Prego."

Despite Lovino's lack of possessions to his name, Antonio managed to find a pair of boxers in a drawer beside the bed. He pulled them on, shimmying them up his legs, over his hips. He pulled the legs of them down a bit.

_Whoo, they're a bit cosy._

They were a just a little bit too tight for Antonio, considering that while Lovino was a bit of a short-stack at 160cm, he stood at approximately 175cm. Despite the height differences, Lovino did carry a fair bit of bulk, muscle-wise.

Antonio waddled over to the bed in the small, navy boxers, and slid back under the covers, the warmth welcoming him back.

While Lovino showered, the Spaniard began to ponder his work.

_Mission Number 689, Operation Gavil__án E-3; Mission successful, items obtained, not sure what. No aircraft damaged, no casualties, four enemy planes taken down._

When the Italian entered the room again, he looked over at Antonio.

"Are you not going to comb your hair?" He asked, snapping the other out of his reverie.

"Never do. No need, unless I'm going to the city or meeting with my superiors."

"Suit yourself." The darker haired man shrugged, combing back his hair in front of the mirror, parting it neatly to the side.

Antonio smiled, seeing the look of concentration on the Lieutenant's face. Lovino looked good from the back, too. Those powerful deltoids, defined shoulder blades, backbone... the elegant dip in the small of his back, and then that very muscular, toned, firm rear.

Antonio's palm twitched. He could just grab it. Right there and then. Walk off the bed, go up behind him and fucking _grope _it.

His 'discipline' kept him in bed. He didn't want to disappoint Lovino by ruining that.

His ears soon picked up on Lovino's voice, though it wasn't talking to him. The sound was syrupy, quiet and somewhat gravelly, changing pitch in casual rhythm. He was singing.

_"I'm feelin' mighty lonesome_  
_Haven't slept a wink_  
_I walk the floor and watch the door_  
_and In between I drink_  
_Black coffee_  
_Love's a hand-me-down brew_  
_I'll never know a Sunday_  
_In this weekday room..."_

Antonio was hiding a smile of pure delight. He'd seldom heard Lovino sing, and when he did, he absolutely adored it. He'd listen intently until the very end. He recognised the song - It was a pretty old one: Black Coffee. Antonio's smile turned into a smirk; it suited him so well. Lovino and his damned black coffee...

When Lovino's singing stopped, Antonio looked back up from his hands to the handsome little Lieutenant, a smile still present on his face.

"You sing it like it's your own song. It's so you."

Lovino quirked an eyebrow and scoffed, though it was obvious that Antonio had explicitly flattered him.

"Tsk, I was just mumbling it. It wasn't even _that _good. I don't sing."

"Well you should."

Lovino heaved a sigh, and folded his arms. Watching Antonio's reflection in the mirror.

"You know what I think you should do?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

"You used that one on me last time." Antonio shook his head, mocking disapproval.

"Well it works, doesn't it? You always seem to fall for it." Lovino provided, dropping his towel. Antonio's eyebrows shot up.

"Jesus Christ, Lovi."

"Problem?" The Italian placed his hands on his hips, picking up on the Spaniard's flabbergasted expression. Antonio held his hands up in defence.

"Nope, carry on."

Lovino moved across the room, grabbing a pair of boxers for himself, and pulling them on, left leg first. All the while, the green-eyed brunette watched him.

"By the way," Antonio started, "Do you know what was in those crates? I'm talking about Operation Gavilán E-3."

Lovino picked up a pillow from the bottom of the bed.

"There was a shit-load of ammunition, hand grenades and also food rations. Most of it was still in date, too. Probably tastes like horse shit, though."

"Alright, thanks. I'll have to put it in my paperwork this afternoon."

"Mmkay."

Lovino brought over the pillow, flopping down into the bed, resting his chin on the pillow. They rested in comfortable silence for a moment. Lovino was the one to break it, this time.

"I've never heard you sing, 'Tonio."

"There's a reason for that." Antonio chuckled.

"My ass. I bet you're really good." Lovino poked his side.

"Mmph. Okay." The Spaniard cleared his throat.

_"Like the wallpaper sticks to the wall_

_Like the seashore clings to the sea_

_Like you'll never get rid of your shadow_

_You'll never get rid of me._

_Let all the others fight and fuss,_

_whatever happens_

_ba-ba-dum!_

_We've got us!"_

Lovino chuckled.

"Clever bastard. I know what you're implying. You've got a really nice voice, though."

Antonio nudged him. His voice had been a very nice sounding little thing. So raw and passionate, even when he was just having a little bit of fun. His accent only added to the pleasure of hearing him sing. He sounded so playful, especially with that song.

"And don't just leave the song there. That's bad manners."

Lovino scolded him, and carried on Antonio's song, the two alternating the lines of the duet.

_"Me, and my shadow."_

_"We're closer than pages that stick in a book._

_We're closer than ripples that flow in a brook."_

_"Strollin' down the avenue..."_

_"Wherever you find him, you'll find me, just look._

_We're closer than a miser or the bloodhounds to Liza, _

_Me, and my shadow..."_

_"We're closer than smog is to all of L.A._

_We're closer than 'Tonio to confessing he's gay-"_

_"Lovi!"_

_"Not a soul can bust this team in two;_

_We stick together like glue." _

_"And when it's sleepin' time,"_

_"That's when we rise,"_

_"We start to swing." _

_"Our clocks don't chime,"_

_"What a surprise," _Lovino smirked, "_They ring,"_

_"Ba-dum!"_

_"A-ding-ding,"_

_"Happy new year."_

_"Me, and my shadow..."_

_"Not to repeat what I sat at the start,_

_They'll need a large crowbar to break us apart,"_

_"We're alone but far from blue..."_

_"Before we get finished, we'll make the town roar!"_

_"We'll hit all the late-spots, and then a few more,"_

_"We'll start out in Stringy's and maybe Groucho's,"_

_"Life is gonna be a wow-wow-whee,"_

_"For my shadow, and me." _

"Okay, you can shush now. We'll wake people up." Lovino smiled, feeling comfortable with Antonio at his side. It occurred to him that he'd never so much as dream of doing this with anyone else.

"Tell anyone else that I sing and you die." The Italian immediately covered, to which Antonio nodded.

"Don't worry, I won't tell. This can be our secret."

Lovino scoffed.

"Thanks, but what are we, six? D'ya wanna pinky swear on that, too?"

"Nah, you're alright, Lovi."

"Good. Now go sleep again, I'm tired."

"Yes, boss."

Lovino kicked him under the covers.


	6. Chapter 5

Once more, both of them slept in late. Contrary to what his mind told him, he slept much better when Antonio was beside him. Having the Spaniard there meant that he was safe, protected from nightmares, his attention focused intently on the man. That way, Lovino would be sure not to let his worries and troubles get in the way, for fear of looking weak in front of the commander. Therefore, his night was undisturbed and comfortable.

Lovino lay semi-stomach, semi-side, his right arm draped over Antonio's slim waist. Antonio's hand was curled up in Lovino's silky, shiny locks. The Spaniard had fallen asleep while petting the Italian's hair, combing his fingers through the gossamer sheets of hair on top, and brushing the palm of his hand along the textured, thick, clipped underside of the Lieutenant's hair. He loved how his hair had such a beautiful, immaculate sheen to it, even in the dark.

The Commander's chin rested on top of Lovino's head, a few fly-away strands clinging to the man's shaven stubble. Antonio needed another shave.

Lovino's finger twitched slightly, his warm hand holding onto one of the handles of Antonio's hips. The other hand was resting against the older male's stomach, the bottom of his hand flattening down the thin line of dark hair leading down from Antonio's belly button.

The Italian's nose was somewhat chilled against the Spaniard's broad chest, the musky, spicy scent of his skin pleasing Lovino's senses. Their toes curled, Lovino's cold foot moving to press against Antonio's warm calf. The commander slid his other leg up, resting it over the lieutenant's hip. Once more, the small of his back hollowed out, his hips dipping outwards again.

They breathed at the same time, chests rising and falling in perfect synchronisation. Lovino's lips brushed Antonio's chest every time the taller male inhaled, each exhale from the shorter side sending a pleasant tingle throughout the Spaniard's unconscious body.

Sunlight poured into the room from the gap in Lovino's curtains. Antonio immediately attempted to roll and face away from the source of the light, but Lovino had gripped onto him tightly, refusing to let go.

He was such a clingy sleeper.

"Nope, get your ass back here, shit-for-brains." He muttered, slurring, barely conscious. He wasn't even conscious enough to register where he was, what time it was, or who was beside him. All he knew was that his source of comfort was getting away from him, and he needed to retrieve it, pronto.

"But Lovi, the light..."

"Mmph..."

The Italian loosened his grip a little, so that the Spaniard could roll over, his back to Lovino. He instantly wrapped his arms around Antonio's waist, warming his hands up on the man's stomach. His hips sat comfortably in Lovino's lap, his perfect ass pressed to Lovino's crotch.

Lovino, however was asleep again and thus didn't notice.

Antonio slid his hands downwards, past his own heated thighs and fondly taking a hold of the back of Lovino's, holding the two of them together.

"Tonio, the fuck're you doing?"

"You're warm..."

"I'm gonna be up your ass if you carry on."

"Then I'll turn around."

"No. I'm comfy between your," He yawned, trailing off, his olive green eyes closing again.

"Between your...?"

"Fucking shoulder blades."

Antonio smiled, and moved his hand to where Lovino's was wrapped around him, interlacing their fingers, squeezing his hand. The Spaniard felt the Italian sigh against his back.

"So it's handholding now, is it?"

"If you're comfortable with it."

Lovino grumbled under his breath. Letting out a sigh of his own, Antonio unwound their hands, moving his away from the Lieutenant's.

Said Lieutenant immediately went after Antonio's hand again.

Likewise, the smile returned to Antonio's face.

"What time is it? Breakfast starts at half seven..." Lovino asked, his thumb caressing Antonio's fingers. They were somewhat leathery, causing the Italian to wonder whether or not the Spaniard could play a guitar. His skin seemed to be toughened from pressing taut strings.

Lovino didn't play any instruments. The roughness on his hands came from handling guns and heavy weapons, climbing ropes during training, but most of all from gripping the steering wheel of his jet - his baby.

To him, the best part of being a soldier here was the flying. That and the food. He'd never felt so free in his whole life. He'd spent so much of his life on the ground, running, wearing out his feet and hardening his heels, splitting his ankles and stubbing his toes... He didn't feel made to run, however natural it was.

The air made him feel at home. The only running he enjoyed was the run from the base to his jet, in which he crossed a wide, open field. He enjoyed having the wind through his hair, sifting through his fingers, carrying him up into the sky's embrace, sweeping him off his feet. He had spread his wings and learnt to fly, like a young bird.

Unlike the other soldiers, Lovino didn't progress from little sparrow stages. Antonio captured him and set him free, knowing that he deserved much more. The Italian was an eagle from the start, possessing dynamic, grace, fluidity and a great ounce of natural talent.

Despite his victories, he remembered the day that he'd collapsed.

_Operation Harrishawk. Mission number 625. I was seventeen years old._

_"Feli! Feli, move, you idiot!" I screamed down my headset, flying overhead. There was an enemy jet shooting forwards, heading directly for him, aiming to crash into the back of him. If he didn't get out, he was surely going to get killed._

_"Merda, I can't! I'm stuck! My gearing won't work!" _

_"Abort, now. I'm the rest of the squadron out of here."_

_"Affirmative, Captain. Ciao!"_

_"Piss off." _

_I watched my brother's jet swerve around, and I took a nose dive for the ground, immediately catching the attention of the pursuing enemy jet. _

_Huh. The driver in this one is pretty damn stupid. He didn't even see Feli move._

_I pulled up, driving my jet straight back up into the air at something of an eighty degree angle. As planned, the jet took on after me, instead. _

_I'm going to fucking kill Antonio when we get back. And Feliciano. This weather man says there's a 99 percent chance they're gonna get caught in a shitstorm. _

_I decided to follow the left route, suddenly turning to the side. I waited for the jet to catch up, flying slow with baited breath... _

_It picked up speed. _

_I bolted it._

_I jammed the accelerator down, shooting forwards, my eyes flicking back and forth from the dials on my dashboard. I was waiting for top speed. _

_I heard the engine's roar heighten in pitch, the little, red pin moving further and further along, until it could no more._

_I felt my chest compressing against the back of my seat, my head sticking to it, my hands shaking on the wheel. I could see it, that brick wall we passed every day in training. There was my goal. _

_My stomach growled. _

_Very suddenly, I felt light-headed, but my will dragged me on. The warning signals on my jet were flashing. The enemy was in the rear-view._

_'Warning. Obstacle Ahead. Collision in 300m...200m...100m...'_

_With a roar of determination, I threw my wheel onto its side, barrelling sideways through the air at a sickening, terrifying speed. _

_The enemy flew headlong into the wall._

_Slowing down was the hardest part. As soon as I reached Military Base, I collapsed from my plane, my stomach giving out one final growl of agonizing hunger. I fell unconscious._

_I don't remember much after that. All I remember is how scared Antonio had been._

Lovino immediately thought of the man behind him, and tightened his hold on his hand.

Antonio had been scared out of his wits when he'd heard that Lovino had collapsed. He'd ran down to where the man was immediately, refusing to let any of the medical staff near him. The Spaniard had protected the Italian like a lioness to an injured cub.

He'd also been the one to initiate Lovino's appetite. He'd fed the man up, making sure that he was eating properly every day, so that the incident wouldn't occur again.

Lovino's expression softened. He really should try harder to be nice to Antonio, no matter how angry the Commander makes him at times. He's a good person, really.

"Half five. I'm getting up." He said abruptly, kicking the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. Antonio sat up, following suit.

"Why? We've got at least two hours." The Commander argued, regarding the Lieutenant.

"Because I need a shower. You too; you're stinking the room out."

"No I'm not." He frowned, though followed the man nonetheless when he entered the bathroom.

The first thing that registered to the almost-naked Antonio was the icy coldness of the room. His eyebrows shot up, and he huffed out a breath, seeing it in the air.

_Jesus Christ._

He looked over at the window while Lovino stripped down, respecting the other man's privacy, taking off his own briefs. He heard the tap turn, and then the gush of water. The Spaniard watched the condensation on the outside of the window, analysing each frozen droplet. It looked as though someone had stopped time in the middle of a rainstorm.

Looking back into the room, he picked up on how Lovino was rubbing his arms. The hairs on his legs and arms were stood on end, raised in goosebumps, his knees shaking. The smaller man was still very skinny - a reminder of his grim past - but athletic in shape, sporting a very nice set of shoulders and biceps. Lovino was very good at running, but then again, he'd been doing so for his whole life, running away from police officers and various merchants. He'd been a right little shit, but a tolerable little shit with more potential than meets the eye.

Lovino acts like he doesn't care, but Antonio knows him better than to accept that perception. The way Lovino was trembling was starting to worry him.

"You're cold."

"No shit, Sherlock. State the obvious, why don't you."

Antonio furrowed his brow. That wasn't very nice. He approached the smaller male, and placed his hand under the jets of water. Still cold. He shook off the water, folding his arms, before turning back to Lovino.

"You know, I'd appreciate if you were a little warmer, Lovino. You don't always have to be so cold; no one else is looking. Or do you not trust me enough to be yourself?" He trailed off.

Lovino was silent. Antonio's cheeks heated up. He'd said the wrong thing, hadn't he?

"I'm sorry, I-" He started, trying to explain himself, not wanting to be given the cold-shoulder.

"No."

Antonio's eyes widened. His breath caught in his chest.

"It's fine. You're right." Lovino said, looking him dead in the eyes. The Italian sighed, "I was thinking about that this morning, actually." He opened up a bit more.

"You were?"

"Don't sound so surprised." Lovino turned his attention back to the shower, his brow furrowed. This time the sigh came from the taller male. There was another silence.

Suddenly, steam began to fill the room, smoking the room out, evaporating and condensing onto the inside of the window.

"Ah, the heating's back." Antonio chimed, brightly.

"So is Sherlock." Lovino smirked. Antonio tilted his head to the side, semi-picking up on the Italian's little joke.

The shorter man stepped into the shower, his goosebumps disappearing as soon as the hot water hit his back, his skin pinking almost immediately. The older male joined him, holding onto his shoulders to steady himself as he stepped into the combined shower and bath. Lovino looked at Antonio incredulously.

"Think you can get any closer?"

"I can try."

"Please don't."

Lovino turned his back to Antonio and reached for the shampoo. Antonio watched intently, confused when he found himself unable to identify the bottle. USB. Unidentified Shampoo Bottle.

He was hit with the smell of tomatoes, however, when Lovino dumped a handful of it over the Spaniard's head, his fingers massaging it into his scalp.

"Yeah. Tomatoes; they're good for your hair and make you smell fucking gorgeous."

Antonio noticed how Lovino was reaching up to try to get to his hair, and so he turned around, and craned his head down to allow easier access.

"I like tomatoes." Antonio smiled, taking over with the hair washing when Lovino tended to his own hair .

He began to wash the tomatoes out, his hair feeling much silkier. It surprised him; he'd always thought using stuff like that was all a myth. It was nice, and made him want to eat pasta.

He watched Lovino washing his hair, and soon decided to return the favour, slowly reaching out his hands and beginning to wash the Italian's hair for him, combing his fingers through his undercut hair, through the gossamer locks on top, and through the thick, rough and textured underside.

Lovino relaxed visibly, instantly calmed. He loved having people play with his hair; it was a weak spot of his. It was funny: almost like Antonio had him in a sort of trance.

"You like that?" Antonio poked, tilting his head to try to get a look of Lovino's face. He earned an appreciative grunt in reply.

The Italian turned around and once more looked Antonio dead in the eyes. Green on green. Face to face, nose to nose, hip to hip. Time appeared to stop, the pelt of the water gone off somewhere in the distance, frozen mid-air.

Lovino heaved a sigh, placing his hands on Antonio's chest, sliding them up to his shoulders, then down to his arms, over his sides, resting them finally at his waist. He dampened his lips with his tongue, feeling the man's fingers still curled in his hair. He didn't look up at his face, his eyes deciding to focus on Antonio's stomach. He moved his thumb across, brushing over the thin line of hair leading down from his belly button.

The two made eye contact again, neither of them feeling the need to say a single word. The only sound to be heard was the sound of the water and their gentle breathing.

While Lovino traced the handles of Antonio's hips with his thumbs, Antonio caressed the sides of Lovino's face. His thumbs ghosted over the Italian's cheekbones, down to his rough, stubbled jawline. A smile curved the Spaniard's lips.

"I like this sort of silence." He whispered, leaning his forehead against Lovino's.

"Me too. So shut up..." With that, Lovino took the initiative and tilted his head back, their faces growing infinitesimally closer, their lips finally connecting, their rough chins brushing when Antonio turned his head, their soaked hair matted to their faces, Lovino's eyelashes tickling Antonio's cheek when he closed his eyes.

Antonio's lips were firm but smooth, leaving a tingling sensation on Lovino's own.

Lovino pulled back slowly, his movements languid.

"I think," He began, regaining control over his pulse, " I think that we should go for breakfast, now."

The Commander nodded, licking his lips, his eyes drawn to where the Lieutenant's lips had reddened. It was exactly how a kiss should have been; not like the frantic, hormone-driven kisses in pornography, not like the dramatic, 'eat-your-face-off' kisses in films, and yet more eventful than those vanilla kisses written in books. It had been real.

"Agreed."


	7. Chapter 6

Once the two were dressed prim and proper, they headed off down to the canteen. The canteen was a lively place to be, to say the least. Lovino didn't like it one bit. Too much noise. Too many people reeking of sweat and dried blood, and mornings. Oh _God, _that morning smell.

The Italian wrinkled his nose in disgust, pushing past the madding crowd of hungry, chattering soldiers, getting a coffee, finding a table and sitting at it. Antonio chose to veer off, picking a table near to the centre of the room, where he was immediately joined by two other men. One had ridiculously white hair, and the other one looked like the sort of shifty guy described in an Agatha Christie book - usually the murderer, or how Lovino imagined the murderer to look, anyhow. Tsk. Creep. Antonio seemed happy enough around them, though, and that was the main thing.

Lovino diverted his gaze and settled instead on his freshly poured cup of coffee. He felt content; this day was off to a great start.

_And then of course, a certain blonde has to barge in on his daydreams. _

"Lovi!"

_Fucking hell. _

"Hey, Bells." He smiled, cupping the mug of coffee in his cold hands. Bella looked taken aback, and then very suddenly suspicious.

"Well, someone's happy this morning. Someone poke a stick up your ass?"

Lovino furrowed his brow,

"...No? That's just my face."

"...Oh."

Silence.

Awkward silence.

"Okay then," She changed the subject, "How's things? You have a mission, by the way."

"Great. Perfect, Bells." He grimaced, "What degree of shit has hit the fan this time?"

"Probably a twenty degree pile of poo, so nothing much to worry about. You just have to do a little bit of ass-kissing alongside Bootylicious over there." Bella gestured with her head over to Antonio.

"Yeah, _real subtle, _Bella."

"Oh hush. Anyhow, I'm going to need you to be the brains and talk with the rich guys; we need more supplies, and I know you have a way with words when you put your mind to it. Mama would be proud." The Belgian captain regarded him seriously, despite her childish way of phrasing things. "Antonio's just going to be there to look pretty and exchange pleasantries."

"But he's the Commander, not me?"

"Exactly. They'll probably see him saying it as him scrounging around for more money; you don't know how well off he is, do you?"

"I have a vague idea." Lovino sipped his coffee.

"Right then. And they will be likely to listen to you for a change, since you're what they'd consider 'reliable' or 'legitimate', because you're not like some power hungry man in charge. Not saying that Antonio's like that, but that is the perception they'll all get of someone of his stance. You're deemed 'trustworthy'."

Lovino huffed what may have been a short laugh.

"Trustworthy? Don't make me laugh."

Bella cracked a smirk,

"I know, that's exactly what I thought when I heard the officer talking. Just a little voice in my head saying 'Oh, Lovino's gonna love this one'."

"Voices in your head, Bella?" Lovino's eyebrows shot up, "You may want to get that looked at."

"I could slap you so hard for that."

"Once more, please don't; I have a reputation to uphold with those trainees. They don't stand within a three meter radius of me."

Bella chuckled, picking apart her blueberry muffin.

"Anyhow, we're going to need you to be ready by Friday. Can you do that? I'll tell you the coach times to the city closer to the date."

"Affirmative, Captain. Love you lots like jelly tots."

"And you too, Lieutenant. I'll see you later." She waggled her eyebrows and left the table. Lovino furrowed his brow in confusion.

He had a feeling that the Captain wasn't quite right up in the head. He thought of the Commander again, wondering what he would be up to 'later'.

By the way they acted in public - they being Antonio and Lovino - no one would have really suspected what went on when no one else was looking. Maybe they'd get a wave of connection from the two from time to time, but it wasn't nearly enough to make a judgement from.

Thinking of the man caused Lovino to end up looking in his direction, to where he was still sat with Poirot and Frosty the Snowman. Still laughing, still smiling. Lovino drank more coffee, watching them all intently.

Frosty appeared to be a German, his loud voice booming through the silence. _Frosty the Abominable German. _Lovino snickered inwardly at his own jokes. Poirot wasn't talking much...

_I wonder where he's from. Another German, maybe? He's definitely not Italian. His stance and the way he moves is all wrong. Plus, his hair is too light. _

Lovino was cut off from his thoughts when he saw the man briefly look him over. Proud bastard. Lovino scowled in response.

Antonio called him over shortly after. As the subordinate, here, he damn well listened, getting up and abandoning his table, going to reluctantly sit with Antonio and the terrible twosome.

Frosty was the first to introduce himself. Antonio wouldn't even have been able to get a word in sideways.

"Hello, I'm Gilbert F. Beilschmidt, Lieutenant Colonel of the Army, and this is Commander Bonnefoy, our Navy-man."

_I really don't care._

"Oh, nice." He replied, nodding. There was a silence. One that Poirot decided to break.

"I'm French, so we should get along rather well, Lovino. Where are you from? Venice?"

_My ass._

"Sicily." He answered bluntly. He could sense how amused Antonio was behind his cool and collected mask. The Spaniard always found his shortness rather hilarious. He fought back the tiniest of smirks.

"Is it hot down there?" Bonnefoy leaned forwards on his elbows. Lovino sat firm, holding his ground, his apathetic expression not once faltering.

"Very."

The Marine's aquatic blue eyes twitched, narrowing slightly before he sat back again.

_You can't fool me. Bon Voyage, Bonnefoy. _

The look of distaste that flickered over the Marine's face was pure satisfaction for Lovino.

"Cute little stunt, Francis. Works for me too. I tried that one last night." The German sat back, his pale eyes like frosted roses skimming over Bonnefoy's face. "On your mother." He finished.

The Frenchman looked outraged by the German's remark.

"That was uncalled for." He argued.

Lovino sat back in his chair, folding one leg over the other, examining and picking at the callouses on his hands.

"You're uncalled for," Gilbert said, causing Lovino to raise his gaze, "Do you want to give it a rest yet? I thought you already had someone. Leave the poor guy alone; we're all men here."

Francis rolled his eyes, his gaze veering off to the side. He rested his chin on the palm of his hand, curling his other hand back around his tea-cup. His honey-coloured hair was dirty and somewhat greasy from working, pulled back into a tight ponytail at the base of his head, the shorter layers of his hair curling in random places. His chin was long and slender, the end of it obscured by a small beard.

Lovino had a sudden urge to shave it off.

"He's a dipshit and assumes everyone is homosexual, don't worry. He hasn't got a screw loose, he's just an asshole." Gilbert reassured him.

Lovino nodded. He had to admire the man's nerve; Bonnefoy was sat right next to him, and Gilbert was just there, slagging him off. The Frenchman looked quite strong, too; Lovino could see the biceps on his arms through his navy shirt. Not as strong as Gilbert, though. Gilbert was bigger than Bonnefoy and himself put together.

The Italian still wasn't all that fond of the slightly narcissistic German, however, but with each word that came out of the Lieutenant Colonel's mouth, Lovino was finding it harder and harder to dislike him.

Especially when a suspicious noise suddenly sounded from behind one of the trio. Everything went silent, the four of them exchanging glances. Lovino knew that it wasn't him; he'd spent a good hour on the shitter that morning. It didn't smell of camembert or garlic, either, so it couldn't be Poirot...

_Jesus Christ, that's rancid._

It was either Antonio or-

"Did you just hear that asshole talk shit behind my back?" Gilbert announced.

Silence.

"Dios mio..." Antonio shook his head, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face, "Gil, that's fucking disgusting."

Lovino's deadpan wavered, finally breaking out into a smirk. He couldn't hold himself back on that one, plus the fact that he'd always found Antonio's swearing to be a thing of beauty.

_The process of elimination, my dear Watson._

_"_I know. And that pun was a little _shitty._" Lovino retorted, earning a grin of approval from Gilbert.

"By my troth; a man with a sense of humour. What's your name?" The white haired man asked, leaning forwards on his elbows, just as Francis had, only he wasn't as scary.

"Lieutenant Vargas. Lovino. Grammarcy, good sir." The dark-haired man replied, playing along, to which Gilbert seemed even more impressed.

"... I like you. You're good." The man sat back, crossing his legs, also. There was silence as the four of them drank coffee, before Francis decided to stand up, placing his cup down.

"Gotta piss. Too much coffee in too little time."

"Want me to come with you, Franny? You know, I'll hold your hand and then shake off the drippers for you."

Lovino almost spat his coffee. Gilbert let out a small whoop of laughter. Francis grinned,

"Not objecting, hot-stuff."

"I'm Mr. White Christmas, I'm Mr. Snow..." Gilbert sang under his breath, earning a playful shove from Francis who soon exited the room.

As soon as he was gone, Gilbert raised his eyebrows, blowing air through his teeth.

"Prick."

Antonio laughed,

"You're fooling no one, Gil."

Lovino liked the atmosphere, here. Three other men all having a good swear, with light humour, shit jokes and a good sense of what's funny. Great.

* * *

**Sorry Guys. I had to include the BTT or else my life wouldn't be complete. Gilbert is #1 Bae 2k15. **


	8. Chapter 7

Lovino would have gladly spent the day with Gilbert and Antonio, and was only a little bit disappointed when the Prussian announced that he had to go back to the separate bases with Francis. The Army base and the Navy base were equal distances away from this one - about a mile either way. He sure hoped he'd see the Lieutenant Colonel again - he seemed like a decent person, which, in this day and age, was a rarity. He still wasn't keen on the Navy Commander. The Frenchman _did _seem like a bit of an ass, to be completely honest.

Luckily, Antonio had invited them out for drinks the next time they were in town. Lovino had something to look forward to, now, instead of constantly staring at the ground. The ground was a depressing place to look. Grey and boring.

It was already three in the afternoon. Lovino hadn't realised how much time he and Antonio had spent talking to the other soldiers there, discussing their plans for the afternoon and evening, and now, most of their day had gone. Time flies when you're having fun, as they say.

"Lovino?"

"Hmm?" The Italian turned, snapping out of his thoughts as the two wandered off along the corridor.

"What will you wear when we go out to the city for that mission?"

Lovino paused, watching Antonio intently,

"What do you mean, what will I wear? Can't I wear my uniform?"

The Spaniard slowed his walking pace, his boots creaking along the wooden floorboards.

"Well, not really. It's a formal event; trust me, you don't want to show up there in your uniform."

"Oh."

"Don't worry," Antonio reassured him, "I'll buy you a suit when we get there. We have a good few days there, actually. Bella said that we have about four days, so shopping for things won't be much of a problem-"

"Whoa, now," Lovino cut in, "You've got to be joking if you think that I'll let you pay for a suit for me. Those things cost loads."

"It's fine, I have plenty to spend, anyway." Antonio insisted, shrugging, trying to persuade the stubborn Italian.

"You're off your head. I'll buy it, honestly."

"You're too proud, Lovi. Please let me buy it for you."

Antonio earned a grumble in reply, followed by a 'fine, but I'm getting you something, too'.

In truth, Lovino didn't always like people buying things for him. Even though receiving the gift was a nice feeling, he always felt obligated to return the favour in some way, shape, or form, even if it was his birthday.

On top of that, he really, _really _didn't want to go to this 'formal meeting'. It would be full of rich snobs and upper-class twits, and he'd have to make conversation with them.

Lovino was frowning again, his mouth a sharp and rigid line.

It scared him, having to talk to people. It was his only fear.

"Antonio?" Lovino asked, turning to look at the taller male.

"What's up?"

"I need to tell you something. In private, preferably."

* * *

Lovino was shaking, his pulse quickening. He'd told Antonio all that he'd needed to, venting it all out. The only sound to be heard in the office at that precise moment was the slow, gentle ticking of the clock, the gurgling of liquid as Antonio filled their glasses back up, and then the clunk of the bottle against the oaken desk as the older male set it back down. There was also the uneven breathing of the Lieutenant.

Silence descended once more, heavy and thick in the air. Antonio broke it, snapping the tension with an almost audible twang.

"Have another drink," He pushed the glass towards the Italian, the sudden movement causing the amber liquid to slop over the top of the ice. Scotch. "It will help calm your nerves."

"Thanks." Lovino answered, taking the glass and drinking some, feeling the alcohol burn the back of his throat. It was a nice burn.

"So, you have social anxiety?" Antonio pressed, though pressed gently, not wanting to kick the Lieutenant off.

"Yeah. Situations like that scare the shit out of me. I really don't want to go. You're the only person who knows this, so don't tell anyone else. They'll think I'm a pussy."

"No one will think you're a pussy. It's not like I'd tell anyone, anyway, Lovino. What happens in this room between the two of us, stays in this room between the two of us. I'm glad you told me." Antonio stood up, placing the tall bottle of scotch back into the cupboard.

"Is there anything that can be done?" Lovino asked, his head spinning a little when he looked up from the glass. Maybe he'd drank that last round a little too quickly.

"I'm afraid not," Antonio sighed, turning back to face the shorter male, "The Captain's word is final. We have to carry out the mission."

There was another short break of silence. Antonio broke it again.

"But, if you can do this - keeping in mind that I'll be by your side the whole time," The Spaniard exhaled, "I'll reward you later, back at the hotel."

Lovino set down his glass.

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"If by that, you mean sex, then yes. We can do whatever you want to do."

Lovino dampened his lips with his tongue,

"Deal. I'll do my best."

"Good." With that, the Spaniard leaned in, and placed a gentle kiss to Lovino's forehead. "You can do this. I know you can; you're Lieutenant Vargas, the human espresso."

The Italian scoffed and stood up, sliding his arms around Antonio's waist, rubbing his sides fondly. Antonio placed his hands on Lovino's hips, sliding his hand back in a circular motion, giving the man a tender squeeze.

The taller male gave the shorter an open-mouthed kiss, locking their lips together briefly.

Underneath Antonio's hand, he could feel the textured fabric of Lovino's trousers, the pockets at the back, and the firm muscle beneath. Under Lovino's hands, he could feel the waistband of Antonio's boxers, the muscular back and the sculpted rump. Lovino liked Antonio's figure. He could own it in more ways than one.

"Come for a bath before dinner. It's five o'clock. We have an hour." The Spaniard murmured against his lips.

"Okay." Lovino replied, placing a kiss under Antonio's stubbled jaw.

* * *

The bath was running, the room heating up, filling with steam rather quickly. Quicker than usual.

"They must be working overtime today." Antonio chuckled. Lovino made a noise of agreement from his place at Antonio's shoulder, his arms wrapped around the other male from the back. He could feel the other's ribcage expanding and contracting with each steady breath. He enjoyed how relaxed Antonio always was.

The Italian moved when the Spaniard turned off the taps, the pipes stuttering when he did so, the water shutting itself off. Lovino was the first in the water, as always, Antonio hot on his heels.

"Do you want me to sit in front of or behind you?"

"Wherever suits you, but I don't want your giant ass squashing me against the tub."

"I'll take that as a 'sit behind me, please', then."

The taller male placed himself comfortably behind Lovino, who ever so casually lay back in his arms.

"Touch my asshole and you die."

"My hands are up here, I'm not touching anything." He raised his hands, mini streams of water pouring back into the bath from his fingertips, before he chose to place them around Lovino's middle, tracing little water patterns over his cinnamon skin, watching the clear, crystalline ribbons disappear.

Lovino shifted, and rolled onto his stomach, propping his elbows up on the bath, either side of Antonio's shoulders. Their stomachs touched, resting against each other's. The Italian lay between the Spaniard's legs, his head resting on his chest. Lovino's stubble had grown out quite a bit, but he honestly couldn't be bothered to shave it off as of that moment in time. Neither could Antonio, who had been sporting a small beard and moustache for a few days, now. They both knew that it would have to disappear by the time that formal event came around. He'd have to endure watching Antonio pluck his rather unruly eyebrows, too, and possibly catch a few stray hairs of his own.

Unfortunately, he was no stranger to how much plucking eyebrows hurt.

Lovino was brought back to reality by the feeling of Antonio's wet hands massaging his back. He groaned when the older male found a knot, beginning to work it out of his muscles.

"What colour suit do you think I should wear?" He asked, enjoying the feeling of Antonio's hands massaging his back.

"I think you'd look good in red, but black seems to be the fashion of this sort of event. Either black or grey."

"How about grey with a red tie?"

"That works, too."

"Hmm."

Lovino kissed Antonio's chest, his lips pressing upon a coral coloured nub. A slightly higher pitched sigh left Antonio's lips. The Italian took that as the cue to continue, and so he carried on kissing his chest, occasionally teasing that one nipple. Who would have guessed that Antonio had sensitive nipples?

"This is the most eventful bath I have ever taken."

"Glad to know you're enjoying it." Lovino answered, looking up at his Spaniard. Antonio smiled in response, before looking up at the clock. Lovino copied.

"We have fifteen minutes. Shall we get out, now?"

"Better had, or we'll be late for tea. Are you sitting with me and Bella?" Lovino asked, pushing himself up onto his knees. Antonio sat up straight again.

"Yeah, why not?" He nodded, shrugging.

The two got out of the bath, but soon ran into a dilemma.

There was only one towel.

"Well, shit." Antonio rubbed the side of his head. "Share?"

"You being serious?"

"Yup."

"Fair enough, then."

'Sharing' the towel, however, mainly consisted of Antonio hogging it and drying Lovino himself. The Italian wasn't complaining, but he felt like a puppy afterwards. His hair had gone curly, too, the sides twisting into little ringlets. He attempted to vigorously comb them out, before handing the comb to Antonio.


End file.
